The Deaths of Duncan Idaho
by PrincessEilonwy
Summary: A cross-section of the many (and sometimes very, very AU) deaths of our favorite character. . .
1. 37: The Plot

Disclaimer: Dune belongs to Frank Herbert. The method of assassination belongs to me.

A/N: Without giving anything away about the plot, this is crazy. Sheer unadulterated craziness. If you can't handle it find a tragic story or something, but please please please don't flame. And now, without further ado—

The Death of Duncan Idaho #37

"Duncan!" Leto roared. "Get Duncan in here at once!" Several people immediately scurried off to do his bidding, giving Leto a momentary feeling of satisfaction. It always made him feel more powerful to have people scurry.

Within minutes, Duncan appeared. Leto noted that he was carrying a small case that he had never seen before. He stared at it curiously, wondering what it was. He would have to make inquiries later, after the present business had been dealt with.

"Yes, Leto?" Duncan asked. "What is it now?" Leto frowned. That was bordering on insubordination. This one would have to go soon…just like the others…Leto repressed a sigh at the monotony of it all. Ghola after ghola after ghola after ghola after…

He shook himself out of his funk. This was no time to be weighed down by depression. "Duncan, faithful friend," he said delicately. "As you may be aware, I have a great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-niece about your age—"

"Several, actually," Duncan interjected impatiently. "Which one are we speaking of?"

"Electra," Leto said.

There was a short pause. "I see," said Duncan. That was all he said in words, but Leto knew exactly what he meant; it was common knowledge that Duncan's dislike of Electra was surpassed only by her hatred for him.

"As I was saying, she is about your age and…" Leto wondered how best to phrase this and decided to go for the blunt approach. "Unmarried." Duncan was no fool—it would be an insult to his intelligence to go into further details. Leto waited to see how Duncan would respond.

If he was expecting more insubordination, he wasn't disappointed. "Oh, no," Duncan said slowly, in that flat tone of voice that indicated he was doing his best to keep from shouting. "_No_ you don't. I flatly refuse to marry Electra."

Leto frowned. He had, of course, anticipated this, but he was also sure he would have his way eventually. "Come now, Duncan," he said cajolingly. "It's not so bad—I'm sure love will grow in time—"

"No!" Duncan interrupted sharply. "Anyone but Electra…She would kill me on our wedding night!"

Leto wasn't going to argue that point. "I really don't think you have much say in this, Duncan," he said mildly. "Let me remind you exactly who is in charge here." He cast a pointed glance around him, taking in the elegant surroundings…the state-of-the-art technology…the armed Fish Speaker guards…

"So," Leto continued, ignoring the stony silence from Duncan, "the wedding will take place in two months. I've already made all the necessary arrangements." He smiled, just a touch patronizingly. "I wish you every happiness in your married life."

Duncan snorted. "I don't have a choice, do I." It wasn't a question.

"Now," said Leto, "you begin to understand how these things work." Duncan scowled at him.

Abruptly, Leto felt a foreboding of danger. Something…Duncan had come to a decision…a dangerous decision.

"Duncan!" he barked. "What are you doing?" Duncan had bent down and was quickly opening the mysterious case he had brought in with him. Danger—danger—

"I had hoped you wouldn't make this necessary, Leto," Duncan said through gritted teeth, not looking up at him. "But you leave me no choice." He snapped the case open and produced—

A SuperSoaker X2000. Leto caught his breath in sudden fear. Fish Speakers were approaching from all directions, but would they arrive soon enough? "The Ixians are very advanced in water-pistol technology," Duncan said grimly, taking careful aim.

"Duncan," Leto warned, "put down the gun and nobody will get hurt." This was a lie, of course, but it was worth a try. He looked around wildly, but the Fish Speakers would never arrive in time to stop Duncan. It was all up to him, and he found himself balking at the idea of trying to knock the weapon out of Duncan's hands. Normal projectiles he could handle, but that much water…

His jaw set, Duncan shook his head. "Goodbye, Leto." He pulled the trigger…

Leto threw back his head and laughed. Duncan paled and desperately yanked on the trigger a few more times. It still wasn't working.

"Forgot to fill up first, eh, Duncan?" Leto chuckled. Duncan, in a foolish moment, tried to turn and run, but now the Fish Speakers were within range and cut him off before he had gone more than a few feet. He turned back to Leto.

"Forgive me, I didn't—I'm suffering from schizophrenia, it was my alternate personality—please—"

Leto sighed. "Kill him," he told the Fish Speakers resignedly. They dragged Duncan away, still babbling excuses at the top of his lungs. Apparently he was not only schizophrenic, but possessed by Baron Vladimir Harkonnen as well.

"Another one bites the dust," Leto said ruefully to himself. "Electra will be so disappointed."

A/N: Well. Can we say out of character? Look, I'm not quite a raging fanatic so I don't have the books memorized yet. Mistakes are not only possible but probable, so please tell me if I've gotten details wrong. I've tried to fudge or skip details anywhere I thought I'd make a total fool of myself. So, that type of constructive criticism is welcome. Oh, also if you have a better idea than I do what number Idaho, so to speak, we'd be on about 2,500 years into Leto's reign, tell me that too. Hopefully I'll have more up soon, if not immediately…


	2. 43: The Chaumas

Disclaimer: Um…please don't tell Brian Herbert I wrote this. Please.

A/N: This one is random. Do you remember that part in _Chapterhouse: Dune_ (in my copy, it's page 188) where Duncan tells Miles Teg about a dog he once had who hated clams and brought them to him constantly? Yes? No? Well…this is sort of based loosely on that. The other ones will be funnier, I promise, I just thought this was a supremely odd idea for a very short chapter.

The Death of Duncan Idaho #43

"Hey, buddy," Duncan said, bending down to scratch behind Leto's ears. It was, of course, imperative that the God Emperor never learned what he had named his dog. "Want to go to the beach?"

Leto jumped up and licked his face enthusiastically, which was answer enough for Duncan. He got the leash, which was really quite unnecessary—ironically enough, the God Emperor's namesake was always well-behaved—and headed out the door, Leto barking joyfully beside him.

"Let's hunt some clams," Duncan said to Leto with a grin.

Ten minutes later, Duncan had settled himself on the sand and was alternately watching the relaxing vista of the sea and the amusing sight of Leto madly digging holes in the sand. He was relentless in pursuit of clams, which were the scum of the earth as far as he was concerned. Watching him scrabble intently at the sand, Duncan had to laugh.

Life was good.

In no time, Leto came trotting toward him with a mouthful of clams, which he laid at his feet with an unmistakable air of pride. "Thanks, old boy," Duncan told him, carefully keeping a straight face so as not to hurt Leto's feelings. He picked up the clams and, with great ceremony, carried them over to a rock he habitually used for his little "picnics".

Methodically, Duncan smashed open the shells of the clams one by one and ate them. Not bad. Luckily, he quite enjoyed raw shellfish, or this would have gotten old long ago. As it was, it was a harmless way to please both his dog and himself.

After a few minutes, Duncan began to wonder where Leto had gotten to. "Letho?" he called through a mouthful of clam. He swallowed and repeated, "Leto?" Where was that dog?

Eventually, a familiar bark from behind a large outcropping reassured him that Leto was simply continuing his hunting out of sight. Duncan relaxed and waited for the next course.

He didn't wait long. Leto ran to him, wagging his tail in an ecstasy of joy. "What a surprise," Duncan exclaimed tolerantly. "More clams!" He took the new batch and set them on the rock in front of him, arranging them in order by size. He would save the biggest for last.

Halfway through the first clam, Duncan noticed that Leto hadn't run off in search of more clams. He was simply sitting by Duncan, watching him eat. Duncan politely offered him a little clam, but he declined. Shrugging, Duncan went back to his food. More for him.

Duncan began to wonder how many more clams he could eat and still have room for supper. Still, he couldn't stand to disappoint Leto, no matter how many clams he had to eat. He cracked open another one and bit into it, closing his eyes as though it would help him appreciate the taste more fully.

He swallowed. "Want to go home soon?" he asked Leto. Leto just sat there, wagging his tail madly and watching him with an odd look. Duncan frowned slightly, wondering where he'd seen that look before…

Shaking off a nonsensical feeling of dread, Duncan opened the next-to-last clam. Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him dizzy. "Oooh, Leto," he groaned, clutching his stomach. "What's _in_ these clams?"

What, indeed? Duncan realized that he had never heard of any sort of illness from raw shellfish that set in this quickly. What was it, then?

And abruptly, Duncan realized something else. He realized that he remembered exactly where he had seen that odd look in Leto's eyes, that odd tilt of the head.

"Face Dancer," he gasped. Another wave of pain hit him, and he fell to the sand, curled in a fetal position. "But…that's impossible…Face Dancers don't…imitate animals." His eyes, slightly unfocused, came to rest on the dog still sitting unmoved, watching him. "…Do they?"

The last thing Duncan remembered clearly was the blurred shape in front of him stretching, elongating, gaining height, and a cold, amused voice saying, "There are many things you do not know about us, Duncan Idaho. And never will."

His last thought was a rueful, _Mother, you were right about raw shellfish…I should have listened…_

A/N: I warned you. Please don't flame me. I can promise that the next one will be oh so much more amusing…Just have to do research to make sure my details are correct. In the meantime…if you haven't read my other Dune story, feel free to see whether it's as out of character as this one. (Hint: it is.) And please, please review—it makes my day! (Quick question for people who know more about Dune than I do: did Idaho grow up with his mother?? Oh well, it makes a good last thought…)


	3. 54: The Misunderstanding

Disclaimer: I don't own Dune, yadda yadda yadda. Just don't set the Futars on me. Or sue me.

A/N: Hmm, yeah, hopefully this will be better than the second one. That was kind of…different…anyway. It's been a long time since I updated this (almost a year…does time really fly that fast!) so now I have reviews, which is vaguely exciting.

AquiliusDivine: Thanks! That's my job, providing entertainment for those who have nothing better to do with their time…

peach feet: Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say this lives up to the Dune series in any way, but—no, no, I'll shut up while I'm ahead. Glad you like it.

Les Scribbles: "Mad laughing" is a perfect description of me while I was writing the first chapter. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Gail Bester: Thanks for the info on Duncan! I have now read House Atreides (actually listened on tape, but same thing, right?) but I had no clue about any of it when I wrote this. I'm glad you liked both chapters.

DathomiranAuthorRoamer: Yes, I enjoy the irony of the super soaker. I suppose he thought he'd try something new…too bad it didn't work out. Mwahaha.

Southernkeltic: Thanks for helping me out with Duncan's childhood…now I know, but it took me a while to get around to reading House Atreides. I love my twists. They're…twisted.

pali: I will kill Duncan again with pleasure. After all, that's the point of this story, isn't it? (evil chuckle) Not that I enjoy killing poor Duncan or anything, oh no no no.

Kamineko: Yay, a lot of people knew about Duncan's boyhood! I'm impressed…sometimes people have no clue what's going on in their favorite series. (coughMEcough) Ah yes, no rest for the weary, Duncan's pseudo-reincarnations must go on!

Freakazoid: Yeah, I like the first one better too. I like it better than this one, for that matter…but I think this one's better than the second one. Hope you like it.

Tito: Mwahaha. I do try to be original. I'm glad you appreciate my twisted sense of humor…what else would lead me to kill Duncan in random ways? Certainly not any wish to torment Dune characters…

Chaotyk: The second chapter was a little…weird, wasn't it? But hey, I'm updating, now you have to. On something, if not your story about Infrix. Although I find I'm missing dear Davy so much lately. (sniff) I wanted to see whether he got killed by the end of the story.

The Death of Duncan Idaho #54

The minute he entered the room, Duncan knew something was terribly wrong.

"Siona?" he said, already a little apprehensive. Siona was sitting at the dining table, staring at the pattern in the plasteel. She never stared at tables unless something was terribly wrong.

At the sound of his voice, she looked up. "Hello, Duncan," she said in a falsely cheerful, normal voice that fooled neither of them. "How was your shopping trip?"

"Fine." He held up the bags of groceries. "I got some more eggs." Duncan knew he was sounding unusually stupid, making small talk about produce when he should be asking what was wrong. But one didn't simply ask Siona what was wrong. She would either tell him on her own or sit around moodily for the rest of the day, but either was preferable to having her explode in rage at his insensitivity.

Sitting down at the table across from Siona, Duncan waited. Siona went back to tracing the patterns on the tabletop, and he sighed in frustration. Life with Siona could be very difficult sometimes.

"Do you know what day it is tomorrow?" she asked abruptly. Duncan swallowed. It was their anniversary, and he was planning a surprise dinner. He knew he was taking a risk by pretending to have forgotten, but it was the best way he could think of to make sure she wouldn't suspect.

"Tomorrow?" he said innocently. "Um…the twenty-third, of course." He fervently hoped he was being a better actor than usual. Usually Siona could spot one of his lies at twenty paces.

Siona scowled at him, then looked pointedly over at the calendar on the wall. The box for the twenty-third was circled three times and outlined in small pink hearts. Duncan put on his best innocent look and drummed his fingers on the table. Whistling would be overdoing it.

"I feel like we've lost something, Duncan," Siona said finally, looking at the table instead of him. "Something important."

Duncan winced. He desperately wanted to tell her how much he loved her and that he was personally fixing her favorite, liver and onions, tomorrow evening. But then the surprise would be gone…Unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't give him away, he kept his mouth shut.

"I heard some people talking in the street today," Siona announced. It seemed like a complete non sequitur to Duncan, but Siona seemed to see some kind of connection between people talking in the street and their relationship. Duncan wondered if he could get back on her good side by acting fascinated. He decided it was worth a try.

"Go on," he said, leaning closer and giving her his most heart-melting look. "What did they say?"

The look Siona gave him immediately made him wonder if he really wanted to know. "Well," she said slowly, "they were talking about prices at the market. And then one of them said, 'By the thousand sons of Idaho, I don't see how they stay in business!'" She blinked at him. "_I_ certainly don't remember you fathering any thousand sons on _me_."

"Just a figure of speech," Duncan said dismissively. He still wasn't sure he saw what the point of this was, but Siona obviously needed reassuring. "You know, like 'By the hair of my chinny chin chin' or something like that." He chuckled a little at his own joke.

Siona didn't look amused. Duncan began to get a bad feeling about this. It only increased when his wife fixed him with a look that would have made stronger men quail.

"Celinia called while you were away."

Duncan blinked. He was sure he had told Celinia not to call him at home…after all, it wouldn't do to have Siona find out that he had spent money to get someone to teach him how to cook properly. It would mean so much more to her than catering or a frozen dinner, but she was always the more frugal of the two and would no doubt not be happy about the expense. Besides, there was always the humiliation involved in admitting that he was that hopeless at something as simple as sautéing onions. How hard could it be for an experienced weapons master like him to preheat an oven? Or maybe it was the stove you used to sauté onions…

In any case, he would have to do some quick explaining.

"Ah," he said enigmatically. "Celinia. Yes. Well, there is a very good—"

"It sounded urgent," Siona went on coldly, overriding his pathetic excuses. "She wanted you to meet her at her place right away." Duncan cringed, suddenly realizing exactly how this must sound. Taken together with Siona's new obsession with that silly "thousand sons of Idaho" business, the whole thing took on unprecedented proportions of innuendo.

He got up quickly and crossed to her side of the table. "Siona, listen, this isn't what it sounds like. I can explain everything. You know I would never do anything like that!"

Duncan was interrupted by the chime that meant there was an incoming call. There was a brief scuffle as he and Siona both tried to reach the vidiphone first, but Siona won. Duncan nearly groaned as he caught sight of the caller identification screen—_Celinia Reliss._ There went his reasonable explanation.

Siona pressed the button to receive the call, ignoring Duncan's halfhearted attempts to shove her out of the way. "Hello?" she said sweetly.

"Duncan? Did you get my message—" Celinia registered that Duncan wasn't the one on her video feed screen. She tried to cover her mistake immediately, but it was too late. "Oh. Um, sorry, I must have the wrong number."

"Yes, I think you must," Siona told her, terminating the call with a savage jab. She turned on Duncan. "You can explain everything, can you? I'm sure. I'll just bet you can."

Something in her eyes made Duncan back away, even before he saw the milky crysknife in her right hand. "Siona," he pleaded. "Darling, take a moment to cool down, count to ten, think this over, please! You don't want to do anything rash." It was too late, he knew, now that the knife was drawn. But maybe he could reason his way out of this somehow.

"This hurts me more than it hurts you, Duncan," Siona told him, advancing with her weapon. Somehow, he doubted that.

With a detached, non-panicking part of his mind, Duncan noted a crash as he knocked over one of the chairs in his attempt to put some distance between himself and his crazed wife. "Siona! I love you!" It was no use. He had always suspected Siona of a certain amount of mental instability…should have known better than to get involved with an Atreides. Mental instability was their specialty.

"You creep!" Siona snarled, seizing him by the collar. All Duncan's honed fighting skills seemed to have melted away, and he found himself powerless to stop the crysknife that was now descending on him. Without warning, Siona drove the knife into his heart, or at least he assumed she did—everything seemed distant, and there wasn't really as much pain as he had expected. That was something to be grateful for, at least.

_Women…can't live with 'em…can't live—_

He shuddered once and went limp.

A/N: Yeah. I was awake when I wrote this. Really. Well, I know it could've been better, but I just wanted to post something. Even if it's probably inconsistent with the books and featuring random technology additions of my own. Consider it a celebration of getting out of school and being able to write again…jeez, what's wrong with teachers nowadays? Don't they see the importance of killing Duncan—er, developing my writing skills for the good of society? Hopefully I'll be able to update again soon…I know you're all counting the minutes.


End file.
